


somebody to call my own

by bigstarkenergy



Category: DCU
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, bruce is the opposite of sunshine but he is sunshine, clark kent is a slut for sunshine, soft idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 09:41:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstarkenergy/pseuds/bigstarkenergy
Summary: It’s not that Bruce minds being alone.But sometimes, Bruce does wish that there was someone there, someone who wouldn’t talk- wouldn’t interrupt, but just someone to simply be there. Someone to remind Bruce that getting angry at something won’t help, someone to remind him that sleep is necessary, someone to remind him that he hasn’t eaten in nine hours. Just someone.That someone turns out to be Clark Kent.





	somebody to call my own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quidhitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidhitch/gifts).

> dedicated to quidhitch, who got me into this ship in the first place, and is generally an icon.

It’s not that Bruce minds being alone. 

In fact, he actually prefers it. Ever since he was nine years old, ever since his parents had met their tragic end, Bruce has been alone. It’s easier this way, less painful. The only constant in his life is Alfred, who coincidentally is also on Bruce’s payroll. Not that he doubts Alfred cares-it’s just that Alfred is someone who normally cooks, cleans, gives input, but otherwise; leaves Bruce alone.

Bruce likes the silence, the shadows. 

It’s not that Bruce minds being alone. But as he’d discovered when he was nine, there is a chasm of difference between alone and _ lonely _.

It’s one thing to enjoy your own company, it’s another thing entirely to _ feel _ isolated, cut off, alone.

It doesn’t happen often, but it’s been happening more and more, like when it’s three in the morning, and the shadows suddenly seem more menacing then comforting. Or when he’s muttering to himself, and finds that five hours have gone by, five hours that he’s spent talking to himself in a mansion. Or the simple things, like when a thought pops into his head that he finds particularly interesting, but no one’s there to listen.

So sometimes, Bruce does wish that there was someone there, someone who wouldn’t talk- wouldn’t interrupt, but just someone to simply be there. Someone to remind Bruce that getting angry at something won’t help, someone to remind him that sleep is necessary, someone to remind him that he hasn’t eaten in nine hours. Just someone. 

That someone turns out to be Clark Kent.

Or Superman. Bruce finds that he can’t exactly distinguish the lines between the two anymore. 

It starts off as something so innocuous that Bruce finds it absolutely ridiculous, looking back.

The League has just had a meeting in Bruce’s cave, (or as Barry likes to call it-Bruce’s laboratory because he claims that anything with this much technology can’t possibly be called a cave) when Clark stays behind. Bruce doesn’t turn around, doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder, but he can feel Clark’s presence, like a mountain just behind him.

“Need something?”

“Can I talk to you?” 

Clark’s voice isn’t as steady as it normally is, and when Bruce does turn around, Clark’s face bears a hesitant sort of determination, as if he’s just decided to fight a bull but isn’t sure how it’ll end.

Bruce leans against his desks and raises an eyebrow.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you.” Bruce phrases it as a statement. 

“Yeah,” Clark says, reaching up behind him to scratch at his neck, “Thank you. You know, for starting the League, for bringing me back, for...all of this. I know you didn’t have to, so thank you.”

Bruce processes his words, but half of his brain is devoted to the action of Clark scratching his neck. He’s never seen Clark scratch anything, as far as he knows, Kryptonians don’t even get vaguely itchy, so it must mean that Clark is nervous about this. That thought prompts an emotion Bruce isn’t sure how he should feel about.

Bruce shrugs. “Not an issue.”

Clark eyebrows furrow. “No I know it’s not an issue, I’m just saying that you didn’t have to. Thank you.”

“Starting to sound like a broken record there, Kent.”

Clark huffs a little, and his eyes narrow. Bruce knows exactly how irritating he’s being, knows that he’s bothering Clark, pissing him off. Good. The sooner Clark storms off, the sooner Bruce will be-

alone again.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult? I’m trying to do something nice.”

And maybe it’s because Bruce is tired, maybe it’s because Alfred is gone for the night, maybe it’s because he’s always been a little bit stupid when it comes to Clark anyhow.

“Because you don’t mean it,” Bruce replies, voice an octave too loud to fake indifference.

Clark’s eyebrows furrow even more. It’s a little adorable, if Bruce didn’t already have a sinking feeling in his stomach that he’s about to get the Superman Clark Kent Morality lecture of a lifetime.

“I don’t mean-Bruce what are you talking about? Of course I mean it.”

And that right there is the problem, Clark reaching out and gripping Bruce’s forearm, as if that’ll convince him. His eyes are closer than they normally are, and from this distance, Bruce can count the different shades of blue in them. (He already knows, but he’ll take anything he can get.) Clark’s bleeding Kansas earnesty, as if he can’t possibly fathom why Bruce can’t just accept the thank you.

Bruce closes his eyes and sighs, but he doesn’t pull away.

“What do you want, Clark?” 

Clark’s jaw is set now, in fierce determination. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce replies, and then he steps away. He ignores the chill on his arm where Clark had previously been holding it. Clark studies him with narrowed eyes before seeming to come to some sort of conclusion. He shakes his head a little and then steps back, so they’re a respectable distance away.

Bruce has to fight not to step closer.

“What are you working on?” Clark asks, eyes still studying Bruce. 

Bruce lifts a shoulder. “Designs for the hall.”

“Can I stay?”

Bruce nearly stiffens, but doesn’t, every instinct in him fighting the urge. He wants to step closer and pin Clark to the wall and ask why, why now, if he has a fever, if he’s suddenly had some sort of crisis of conscience, why now, when Bruce is tired and old and _ lonely _.

When Bruce is more inclined to drop his head, brace his shoulders, and say “Okay.”

Clark turns then and settles onto the singular couch Bruce has in the cave, pulling out his phone. They work in comfortable silence, Clark typing away, Bruce incorporating specific functional utilities into the Hall’s design.

When it hits 2 in the morning, Clark stands, and Bruce turns to face him. Clark smiles then, like he’s happy, happy to have spent two hours in the silence with Bruce, and reaches a hand out to settle on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says again, while Bruce stays very very still underneath his hand.

Bruce allows his mouth to lift in a wry smile. “You keep saying it, Clark, you’re going to wear it out.”

Clark shrugs, and stares Bruce down. “I’ll say it as many times as I have to in order to get you to believe it.”

And then, Clark smiles, one last time, eyes as blue as the Kansas sky, before turning around and heading back up the stairs. “Get some sleep,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Bruce barely hears it. 

He’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

That’s how it starts. 

It becomes more and more common, for Clark to stay after League meetings, when Bruce isn’t working on something important, and on rare occasions, for Clark to drop by unannounced, on a random day.

They work in silence, most of the time, but sometimes Clark will show Bruce something he found on the internet that he finds funny, or tell him a story about his day. Bruce never shares, but sometimes, he’ll get frustrated, Clark will show him a cat meme, and he’ll suddenly return to his project with new ideas and a new perspective.

(It’s not really the memes that give him new perspective, it’s the way Clark’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the way he smiles as if he can’t help it, like a child. 

“Look-” he says, holding his phone out, “Isn’t it cute?”

Then Bruce will frown, but it’s as if Clark thinks it’s a smile, because he’ll only smile wider before going back to scrolling.)

One night, it’s later than it normally is, four in the morning, when Clark turns to him to say goodnight. He doesn’t look tired, but Bruce can see it in his shoulders, the way they’re hitched up near his neck, the way he stands, as if he’s too tense to relax.

“Night,” Clark says, a smile on his face, but it’s too tight, too forced.

Bruce narrows his eyes. “Bad day?”

Clark shrugs. “They happen.”

Bruce smiles a little, and steps closer. “I didn’t think anything was capable of shaking that Kansas optimism.”

“It’s not shaken.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, then sits down on the couch, gesturing for Clark to do the same. He really should call it quits, say goodbye, and go to bed. But Clark looks tired too, and if Bruce can help- well. He’s never really been able to say no to Clark anyway.

“What happened?”

“A story of mine got scrapped. It’s raining-so there’s no sunlight, and I’m just really tired.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce replies, because that’s what he thinks people do in these sort of situations. His brain is already churning, trying to come up with possible solutions, when he lands on one. He grins, already standing up, and impatiently grabs at one of Clark’s arms, pulling him up. “Come with me,” he announces, and drags Clark behind him as he walks up to the rest of the mansion. 

Clark raises an eyebrow, but follows behind. 

Bruce tugs them into a room filled with mirrors, but before Clark can ask any questions, Bruce flips a switch on the wall, and the mirrors all move, fitting into alignment so that beams of light start bouncing around the room, until the entire room is swathed in sunlight.

The effect on Clark is almost immediate, he stands up straighter, his shoulders unlock, and he smiles, crinkles forming at the side of his eyes.

He turns around to face Bruce, the same effervescent smile on his face. “How-why?”

“I figured it’d be useful.”

“Useful-you made this entire room for me?”

“The others have their own practical rooms too.”

Clark grins, and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he declares, stepping closer to Bruce. His eyes are bluer now than they were a few minutes ago, and his skin has started to take on a slight glow. He’s gorgeous.

“It wasn’t an issue.”

Clark rolls his eyes this time, and settles his hands on Bruce’s shoulders. The same determination he had the first night he asked to stay is in his eyes for some reason, set and blazing with blue. He leans in closer and closer, while Bruce tries extremely hard to control his heartbeat and his breathing.

When Clark finally kisses him, Bruce feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his body. The air around them is warm from all the sun, Clark’s hands have made their way into his hair and the back of his neck, and his lips are soft, so soft. He kisses gently, like he’s trying to convince Bruce of something. Even kissing, Clark remains so perfectly polite, Kansas bred.

But Bruce was born and raised in Gotham.

He hooks an arm around the back of Clark’s neck and deepens the kiss, opening his mouth, tracing the lines of Clark’s lips with his tongue. Clark gasps slightly, makes a sound at the back of his throat, and pulls him in closer, hands in Bruce’s hair curling. 

When they finally break away to breathe, Clark is grinning so wide that Bruce feels an ache in his chest. Clark’s eyes are crystal clear now, and he’s smiling so much that Bruce grins back, a reflex.

“What was that?” Bruce finally asks, when he’s managed to catch his breath. He’s fantasized about kissing Clark before, sure, strong hands and a searing warm mouth, but he’d forgotten the small detail about Clark not needing to breathe. 

Clark smiles even wider (Bruce didn’t think that was possible) and leans in for another kiss.

“It’s a thank you.”

Bruce smiles, which sort of ruins the kiss, but when he pulls away, Clark is smiling back, so he figures it makes up for it. They kiss some more, soft sounds at the back of their throats, hands running over shoulders and through hair, before they finally pull apart. Bruce takes a step back to breathe for a moment, because there’s no way in hell that he’d be able to form a coherent thought with Clark standing so close. He feels almost drunk, as if he bathed in alcoholic sunlight. Bruce wonders absently if this is what it’s like to be Clark, surrounded by sunshine constantly.

When he looks up at Clark, he’s wearing a hesitant expression, eyes worried, but full of hope. Clark’s eyes flicker across Bruce's face as reaches a hand up to rest against Bruce’s jaw. “Can I stay?” he asks, voice quiet.

Bruce laughs and reaches a hand up in Clark’s hair to pull him in for another kiss. 

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have literally never read nor watching anything to do with DC besides Wonder Woman, so all of this is based off fanfic. whoops! anyway i hope you enjoy this, and if you want more, you can find me on tumblr at bigstarkenergy.
> 
> inspiration and title was based off the song Someone To You by BANNERS (brilliant song, go listen)
> 
> kudos and comments make me really really happy!


End file.
